


He Sits Alone

by anerdwithakoreanhaircut



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M, Minor Character Death, Platonic Relationships, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 10:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7569973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anerdwithakoreanhaircut/pseuds/anerdwithakoreanhaircut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>excerpt:  </p><p>'He has everything perfectly planned out; he has one week to make his silent goodbyes.</p><p>Except this is the week that a family decide to move into the house next to his that fucks everything up.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Sits Alone

**Author's Note:**

> note: when i say the term 'college,' i mean the english form. for americans, it's the last two years of high school (16-18).
> 
> hello all. this was a fic i originally posted to my tumblr on August 4th, 2014, although i have gone through and revised it a bit. i figured i should (finally) post it here should i ever delete my tumblr. please leave any comments/concerns, and have a good read!

There’s a boy who sits alone.

At lunch, he’ll sit at the end of the table at the back by a window. He never brings a lunch, nor does he buy one. To do so would be a waste of food.

During class, he always sits at the very back, either the right or left corner, chewing on his pencil. No one bothers to talk to him, nor does he attempt a conversation. The spot immediately to his left or right is empty. A loner. Even the people who used to torment him in primary don’t bother with him anymore, bored from the lack of response on his end.

When he walks briskly through the halls, his tall, thin frame is hunched over, dark fringe in his equally dark eyes. He only glances up every now and then to be sure he doesn’t bump into anyone and to get to the right class.

This is how Dan Howell has spent the years in primary and high school; how he’ll apparently spend what remaining days he has left in college. He doesn’t plan to graduate, doesn’t plan to be around long enough to. A levels be damned.

He recognises everyone’s faces, being such a small town everyone goes to the same schools for thirteen years or so. He doesn’t care enough to learn and retain a single one’s name.

~~~

Only two months into the semester and the teachers have given up on him. They know from talks with other teachers that he’s not worth complaining to or ragging to get his work done or to study for his tests. The calls home do nothing, not even his parents care enough to rag on him about academics anymore. They focus more on his smarter, sociable younger brother who is everything his parents wanted in their older son, too.

Only sixteen years into his life and he’s ready to leave it all behind.

~~~

He has everything perfectly planned out. His parents are going on separate business trips, his brother will be at a friend’s house. He has one week to make his silent goodbyes.

Except this is the week that a family decide to move into the house next to his that’s been vacant for five years. This is the week that a new student arrives in his school, in his year, in the majority of his classes. This is the week that this new student fucks everything up.

~~~

“Daniel!” his mother shrieks up the stairs. He has never been fond of her scratchy voice, but when she attempts to shout, it comes out strained and too high-pitched. “We have some new neighbours to welcome to the neighbourhood!”

 _People still do that?_ he thinks to himself. He sighs deeply and rises from his bed, throws on clean clothes (well, cleaner than what he had on). He runs a straightener through his brittle hair, again wondering why he still bothers with that inconvenience. He slowly turns the lock on the door, and exits.

He trudges down the stairs, draped in a now oversized sweatshirt and pants two or three sizes too big now (he had to poke two extra holes in his belt to keep them up, and even then they continue to sag to his bum). He does not want to be friendly with neighbours, knowing that in one week’s time they’ll be hearing sirens and seeing flashing lights appear in front of his house. He smiles slightly at knowing he himself won’t be hearing the sirens, won’t be seeing any lights, ever again.

He just made it to the foyer when his mother spots him. She may be smiling at him, but her eyes give away that she’s still hopelessly worried about him.

He wishes he couldn’t see that it was genuine worry.

“Here, bear, can you carry thi-oh, you know what, never mind, I’ve got it,” she smiles, sadness brimming her eyes. He knows that she knows he’s too physically weak to carry a basket full of fruit. She knows, yet doesn’t say anything; doesn’t even bring it up with him. Only pretends she doesn’t see him not eating, pretends she doesn’t see him leaving the bathroom wiping his mouth when he does manage to get food past his lips.

 _She’s been pretending for too long_ , he thinks. Even if she were to attempt to reach out to him now, he thinks he’s far too gone to respond properly.

He’s been out of his safe haven for two minutes, and he already feels like not dying today was the worst decision he's made.

~~~

Their names are Katherine and Michael Lester, they have two sons, neither of whom are present at the short get-together they had.  One, Mitchell or Marcus or Martyn (he’s only vaguely aware that it started with an ‘m’, positive it's two syllables), was away at uni and the other, he didn’t catch the name, was protesting the move and refusing to leave his room, not happy to have gone so far south, away from his friends. Dan had suddenly felt anger towards his new neighbours for dragging their son away from his life.

He had tuned out the rest of the encounter.

When they got home, his mother shot him a disapproving and exasperated look and said, “You could’ve at least said hello, or goodbye, or your name. You came off so rude!” She  _tsk_ s and shakes her head. Every click of her heals on the kitchen tiles makes his head pound.

He doesn’t bother responding, or even acknowledging, her statement and goes back up to his room, his safe haven, where he spends the rest of the night and the whole of the next day.

~~~

Since his shitty, rundown hometown rarely ever gets new people, the new neighbours' kid (Phil, apparently) is all anyone can talk about.

The instant he walks through the school doors, he becomes aware of the crowd surrounding the raven haired boy, who stands above most of them. He looks overwhelmed, and Dan feels a pang of sympathy for the kid before remembering he shouldn’t feel a ‘pang’ of anything, that his emotions were to be shut off for the remainder of his time here.

He diverts his eyes to the floor again as he rushes off to his homeroom.

~~~

“Everyone, please settle down!” his English teacher, Mrs. Thompson, raises her voice, but does not shout. She patiently waits for the last of the teenagers to silence before continuing. “As you are all aware, we have a new student. Everyone, please welcome Philip Lester.” Dan quickly looks up to glance at the boy, noting his pale skin was useless at hiding a blush.

“Oh, trust us, we’ve all welcomed him properly this morning,” a girl giddily speaks from Dan’s left.  He can tell from her tone that she means it, that he has gotten a proper greeting to the new school, and that he is accepted.

Without Dan’s permission,  a pang of jealousy mixed with pain shoots through him, that this Phil got more of a welcoming than he was ever given bothers him more than even he thought possible.

The realisation that Phil was going to have more than quadruple the friends made in one day than Dan had in his whole sixteen years weighed heavily and squeezed tightly around his heart.

He would have tuned the rest of the class out, maybe even faked needing the restroom, had Mrs. Thompson not said: “Okay, Philip, seems the only seat left in my class is…ah, it’s by Mr. Howell,” he hears the disdain in her voice.

Dan feels his heart thud in his chest as he whips his head up; glancing quickly with wide eyes in search of another empty seat, knowing it was in vain. There were no other empty seats.

He squishes himself up against the wall, as far away from the chair to his left his body would allow, as the boy makes his way to the seat. He can feel the sweat gathering on his forehead and upper lip, the room suddenly too hot. His heart was pounding away in his chest and he wonders briefly if he was on the verge of a heart attack. Not entirely unlikely, seeing as his heart's health is probably just as shit as the rest of his muscles.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Philip lightly place his things on the table and pulls the chair out. Dan quickly realises as Philip sits that he has taken to calling this boy ‘Philip’ in his head and curses himself for learning a name. In all his years, not a single name has left an imprint on his memory, not even those who tormented him, who left him beaten and broken.

He refuses to think on it too much, and stares down at his empty notebook for the rest of class.

~~~

Almost fully through the day, with one class left, he realises with mild irritation that Philip is in the majority of his classes.  And coupled with the fact that the seat next to Dan is always, always empty, he realises with great irritation that Philip has to sit next to him.

He’s on his way to his last class of the day, dreading it because he hates maths but also content because his teacher, Ms. Brown, seems to take notice that he doesn’t work not because he simply doesn’t care about school, but because he doesn’t care at all about anything. She doesn’t look at him with contempt or speak his name with irritation, just simply does so like she would with any other student.

Philip was not in his last class, so Dan is hopeful that he’ll be able to make it through maths without an appearance by the aforementioned, but is immediately proved wrong as he enters his class. Philip (or, rather, Phil, as when he was asked what his preferred name was, that was his response) is standing and chatting with Ms. Brown, and since they are the only three in the room, he can hear that she is catching Phil up on what they are being taught right now, trig. Phil (he makes a mental note to stop referring him to him as ‘Phil,’ then makes a further note to stop referring to him as anything but another face in the crowd) tells Ms. Brown that this is where they left off in his lessons back home and that “it seems I haven’t missed much,” followed by a small cough-laugh.

As the students roll in now, he remembers that the seat next to him is not the only seat empty, and relaxes a bit, though he’s always slightly tense. Phi- _no, Dan_ ­-new kid waits around, waiting to see which seats are taken and which will remain empty.

Almost every student that enters acknowledges Ph- new kid in some way, whether it is with a nod, a wave, a hello, or even a hug from two of the girls. Again, Dan’s shot with a jealousy and some hurt that can’t be explained with the way these people are treating Phi-fucking new kid better than they have ever treated him. He wishes it didn’t hurt, but it does.

As the final bell tolls, indicating the start of the lesson, Ms. Brown goes through the same routine the other teachers went through of addressing new kid, and as there are four seats free, tells him to choose his spot.

Not to Dan’s surprise, the people surrounding the other three seats tell Ph-the goddamn new kid to sit near them.

To Dan’s utter surprise, goddamn new kid declines their offers with a polite smile and shake of the head and _chooses_ to sit by Dan, much to the dismay (and, Dan suspects, disgust) of the other teens.

The three other times they were forced to sit next to one another, but…this time he chose Dan. He chose Dan. He hadn’t once looked over to new kid as he was sitting too close for Dan’s comfort, but this time he looks. No one ever chooses Dan, over anybody. Ever. It just…it doesn’t happen.  And he regrets the few milliseconds he takes to glance up to goddamn new kid, whipping his head back down to stare at his ever-blank notebook pages.

Goddamn new kid was looking right at him.

Goddamn new kid has the most beautiful, lively, bright eyes Dan has ever seen. It almost pains him; to know that this kid is so full of life, and his own eyes, are just so…empty. Maybe new kid saw the emptiness, too, and won’t choose Dan, won’t choose to sit there the next time they have this class on Wednesday.

Dan can only hope.

~~~

Again to Dan’s dismay, he realises he shares another two classes with new kid every Tuesday and Thursday. And again, the only empty seats are consistently next to him.

 _I just have to make it through the rest of the week,_ he reminds himself.

On Wednesday during English, new kid passes Dan a note.

 _Do not engage him, Daniel,_ he chastises himself. _Do not let him engage you, either. No friends, no connections._

But he does choose to acknowledge him a bit, and throws a glance and a smirk to new kid, unable to miss new kid’s shining, lively eyes. Eyes he’s sure he used to have years and years ago.

He takes the note and shoves it into his notebook, unread.

“Please read it,” new kid whispers to him.

Dan nods, yet somehow believes he’s not the only one that knows he will not read the note.

~~~

It’s Friday, and Dan isn’t sure he can wait until the weekend to off himself. Today has been possibly the worst day since his dog died, leaving him completely alone and friendless.

One of his past tormentors apparently wasn’t getting the responses he wanted from a year 9 kid, and instead turned to Dan again.

On his way to maths, he was pulled--no, yanked to the side of the hallway and shoved up against the wall. Horrible words flew off the boy’s tongue, paying no attention to what it was doing to Dan.

Dan had already had enough reasons to want to die, and yet here this kid is, pounding in more.

His finals words to Dan are more like instructions: “you should just fucking kill yourself, you know. No one here gives a fuck about you and you’re wasting space.”

With a final shove to Dan’s shoulder, he leaves.

Dan’s never felt as empty and dead inside as he does in this moment.

 _Mum and dad are still at work, you know. And Aaron has football after school, so he won’t be home either,_ he thinks. _You know when mum gets home; you know she’ll find you, so you don’t have to worry about Aaron finding you first._ It sounds promising.

He’s decided on ditching maths in favour of heading to his death.

~~~

It doesn’t take Dan long to realise he’s being followed home.

Sure, other kids could be ditching, since it’s a Friday and everyone looks forward to the weekend, right? But on his block, he’s the only one that walks home. Everyone else, including new kid, either have a ride home or drive themselves because of how far away from the school he lives.

He’s panicking now, because what if it’s that kid from earlier? What if he’s following him home to torment him more? Maybe beat him up? Dan knows he won’t be able to take more than a few blows to the stomach before he gets killed; he’s too weak. He doesn’t want to be killed, no. That’s not how he wants to go.

He doesn’t bother looking back to see who the culprit is. He breaks into a run and bolts towards home.

~~~

Dan feels disoriented as he blinks his eyes open, not knowing when he passed out or how or why. All he knows is there is a thrumming in his head that hurts enough to be noticed, but not enough to warrant taking any of those wretched pills he hates.

He’s slowly blinking his eyes open, everything is blurry.

“Hey, are you okay?” he hears a soft, worried, Northern voice ask.

Even in his daze of confusion, he knows this voice. The same one that’s been asking if he read the note, its owner sitting next to him in a lot of his classes.

He tries to nod and sit up quickly, but as he goes to move a wave of nausea keeps him where he is.

_Wait, where am I exactly?_

He pinches his eyes shut, trying to remember if he made it home after breaking out in a run. Is he lying on the ground? No, no, it’s too soft to be concrete or grass. He’s on a sofa, but whose? His own? Did Phil bring him to his own house because he couldn’t find Dan’s key and the door wasn’t unlocked? He wishes he could voice his questions, but any and all noise gets caught in his throat.

He feels a tentative hand lightly rest on his forehead, presumably checking temperature, then feels it slowly brush his fringe out of his face and the hand retracts to its owner.

It’s another few minutes before Phil attempts another question, but this question requires more than a nod or shake of the head, and Dan can’t answer. He wants to, just so he can leave quicker, but he simply can’t. He pinches his eyes further shut, furrowing his brows in the process.  He presses his hands into his eyes, hoping the pressure there will ease the pressure in his head. It doesn’t.

Phil tries again and again to get Dan to talk, asking the same question over and over, and Dan’s getting more and more frustrated with not only Phil for not understanding, but himself for not being able to get any sort of response out.

“What happened?”

“What happened?”

“What happened?”

 _I don’t know! I don’t know! I! Don’t! Know!_ he wants to scream it, but he just can’t. His voice simply isn’t working.

He takes his hands away, slowly opens his eyes again, and the blurriness isn’t as intense. He tries, slowly, to sit up and succeeds. His back is against the corner of the sofa, between the arm and the back. He can’t stand yet, he’s too weak. The time has come in his cycle that he has to eat something, or he won’t be able to move at all.

Phil thrusts a glass of water into his hand without further discussion, seeming to sense Dan’s need to put something in his stomach. Dan sips at it, wanting to gulp it down but not wanting to come off dehydrated, even though he knows that’s what he is. He's also acutely aware of the nausea that would follow if he did chug it down.

He tentatively glances to Phil’s face, to his eyes, only to see nothing but worry and concern and fear present in them. They’re such a beautiful, lively, multi-coloured eyes.

He vows to never look into them again.

Phil clears his throat, and Dan knows he’s going to ask again. He doesn’t think he can handle being asked again.

But, no, it’s a different question. It’s a yes or no question, finally, but it’s a question that has him wishing Phil had asked the ‘what happened’ question again.

“Have you eaten at all today?”

His head moves before his brain can think about what the answer will reference.

“No? How about yesterday?”

Same shake of the head, slower now.

“Have you eaten at all in the past week?”  His voice is a whisper, it’s gentle. Caring. Worried. It’s the voice he wishes his mother would have used, asking the question he used to wish leave his mother’s mouth, to prove she cared and would help, before it became too late.

He shakes his head so slowly that if Phil weren’t staring so attentively he surely would have missed it.

“Okay.” It’s so softly spoken Dan almost doesn’t hear it.

Phil slowly gets up and leaves, emerging a minute or five later with a small cup of applesauce. He gently takes Dan’s hand and sets it into his palm, along with a spoon.

“Take as long as you need, but I’m not allowing you to leave here without finishing it.” His voice is still gentle, still caring, still worried, but it has an edge of urgency to it that Dan can’t ignore.

Breaking his shortly-lived vow, he meets Phil’s red-rimmed eyes for multiple seconds, before ripping his own away again.

It takes him half an hour to finish the cup, but it’s finished. Almost immediately, he takes out his phone to type out his question so he doesn’t have to use his vocal chords. He asks where the bathroom is (he’s established he’s in Phil’s house, the lounge to be exact). When he doesn’t get an answer, he looks up to Phil again and it takes him no time at all to realise he’s not going to get an answer.

Phil shakes his head, his eyes sad. Phil’s not going to allow him to go anywhere until he’s sure the food will stay in Dan’s stomach to digest.

 _Phil cares._ This realisation hits him harder than any punch he’s ever received. Dan doesn’t know why, doesn’t understand why, but it’s obvious that Phil cares.

Without his permission, a single tear manages an escape out of his eye. He wasn’t even aware he was on the verge of crying.

And it’s as if a dam broke. Before he can even attempt at controlling it, he’s sobbing; breathing jagged, body-wracking, pillow-soaking sobbing. His vocal chords give way, allowing choked moans to escape. He’s curling into himself, making himself as small as possible, wrapping his arms around his legs and burying his head in his knees.

Every fucking painful emotion decides to surface and after years of pushing it away and bottling it up let it build up to this. All of the insults, both from others and himself, suddenly flood his brain and he can’t stop feeling it. And it hurts. It fucking hurts, and he’s not sure he’s ever hated himself so much before. Not only for allowing feelings and emotions to surface, but to do so in front of a complete stranger; a stranger who for some reason cared enough to bring him into his house, made sure what he ate stays down.

Dan makes a mental note to ask why he didn’t call an ambulance.

He feels arms snake around him, pulling him into the Phil.  Dan immediately pulls Phil closer to him by wrapping his own arms around him, pulling as tightly as his wasted muscles allow. He didn’t realise how much he wanted, no, needed this until now. He needed a hug, and he’s getting one, and he’s never felt such a positive release of emotion flood through him until now.

About ten or so minutes later, Dan has finally stopped crying and slowly loosens his grip around Phil, but does not let go, instead moving his head from Phil’s shoulder to his chest.

Phil slowly rubs Dan’s back, feeling the ridges of his protruding skeletal structure beneath thin skin, and whilst he thinks he should feel like ripping himself away from Phil to stop him from feeling just how badly Dan’s mistreated his body, he instead feels more content than he has in what feels like years.

Before Phil gets a chance to ask, Dan takes his chance and turns the question back on him, “What happened?”

It comes out sounding hoarse, but that’s only because he hasn’t spoken a single word in something like a month. Or because he was crying so hard and loud. Or both.

Phil tells Dan that he got about halfway down the block before he collapsed, and Phil sprinted to see if he was okay.

“Ambulance?” he had meant to form a complete sentence, but could only manage the one word.

“I checked your vitals, you didn’t need it.”

“I…die?” Dan is getting frustrated, because he sounds like a two year old and he knows he’s more articulate than that, but it’s all he can get out.

Conveniently enough for him, Phil seems to string together his sentences mentally for him. “You weren’t going to die, I wouldn’t let you. You just…” he seems to think hard about what he’s about to say next, as if it’ll determine the course of their budding friendship- _temporary companionship, Dan, that’s all you’re allowed! Don’t you dare get attached, not now!_

Phil continues, “You just need…need someone. A shoulder to lean on, if you will.”

 _I needed medical attention,_ he thinks to himself, but doesn’t dare say it out loud in fear Phil will take that as a directive to call an ambulance. He may need to go to hospital, but he in no way wants to.

Phil brings his head back to look down to Dan, and Dan has to force his head up to catch Phil’s eyes. He can see the pain, immense pain, the fear, the tears threatening to spill.

Dan looks away, not wanting to see the negative emotions that were so lively and positive not five hours ago.

“I had a best friend scarily like you back home,” Phil starts, but he chokes on the last word. Dan can tell he’s trying so hard to hold himself together.

Dan’s suddenly very angry at Phil. His voice strains as he shouts, “You know nothing about me! How can you say that, ‘scarily like me,’ when you don’t know me?! Fuck you!” he shoves Phil away. Even though Dan knows he’s not strong enough to actually force Phil away from him, he must take him by surprise because Phil almost falls off the sofa with Dan’s shove.

Phil looks like Dan has slapped him in the face. Dan’s suddenly not angry anymore, more ashamed and shocked at himself for raising his voice like that. Surprised he had the energy to get that angry. He opens his mouth to apologise, but Phil beats him to it.

“No, no, no, it’s okay, you have a right to be upset and even angry with me,” Phil nods his head like a bobble head doll, and Dan can see he’s being genuine, that he believes that Dan had the right even if Dan himself thinks that was way uncalled for.

“I shouldn’t assume things about you,” he continues, “it’s just…so far I seem to be right in my assumptions, and I was…I was so wrong in my assumptions about Ian,” Dan can only assume (oh, irony…) that Ian is the aforementioned best friend back home. “Ian was always so…so happy and cheerful and always there if you ne-needed a sh-sh-shoulder, always there to m-make y-y-y-you laugh a-an-and-d smile,” he’s trying so hard not to break, he’s stuttering so badly from trying to persevere, and Dan would do anything to try and keep him together. “B-bu-ut his eyes…he cou-c-c-c-couldn’t-n’t-t,” Phil stops and takes a few deep breaths and seems to try to stabilize himself again, starts a different sentence. “We were taught in year 8 health class, the top signs of…of a sui-“ another deep breath, “signs someone doesn’t want to be alive anymore, and one of them was giving away cherished items. I should’ve known as soon as he showed up with his record collection, the majority of which were signed and were his favourite bands. He-he said he wanted me t-to have them,” a few tears slide down his face, he’s looking at the ground, but Dan can’t look anywhere but his face.

“His eyes scared me. They were…they were so-so gone. He wasn’t there anymore, and it didn’t connect, it didn’t connect when I got the call the next day, or even when I went to his funeral the next week,” Dan realises now where he’s going with this story and has to look away.

“It was a month later and I was so lost, so, so lost without him by my side, that I began to think I couldn’t make it in a world without him, that I wasn’t sure I wanted to. And I happened to glance in a mirror…I wasn’t as far gone, but it scared me how much my eyes mimicked his. And I’ve been wishing I could’ve done anything to help him, anything to at least get myself to see so I could help…and then my first day, and I saw you…and then in maths, I had to sit next to you again, and you looked over to me…and your eyes, Dan…” Phil can’t seem to help the tears slipping down his face now. “They’re…they’re so…empty, Dan. So…”

“Dead,” Dan chokes out and bursts into a sobbing fit, reaching out for Phil, because he understands. He understands. He understands and he cares and he wants to help and that realisation is so painful yet so relieving.

His sole plan for the weekend was put to the backburner, in favour of Phil staying with Dan and holding him whenever Dan would suddenly burst out in cries of pain and memories of being tormented overran his thoughts.

~~~

There’s a boy who used to sit alone.

At lunch, he sits at the end of the table at the back by a window, now with a companion. He never used to bring a lunch, but his companion makes sure he eats something every day, makes sure he drinks a pint of water. Cares enough to not force him, but to strongly urge him to nibble _something_ , and keeps him seated so he doesn’t relieve his stomach of what little he gets down. Massive improvements to just a few months ago. Dan realises he’s taking up more space, that his pants fit slightly better now, and he finds that he doesn’t mind it. He gets less dizzy now.

During class, he still sits at the very back right or left corner, still chews his pencil. Phil talks to him every chance he gets, whispering little encouragements, without being cliché. The spot immediately to his left or right is always occupied. A single friend is all he has, but it’s better than he could’ve imagined. Every bad thing he’s ever been told he was is always contradicted by his companion, who never fails to mention how much he’s progressed, how proud of Dan he is, and how much he still has to grow.

When he walks briskly through the halls, his tall, thin frame stands straighter, his dark fringe pushed to the side so he can see properly. He glances around to people, meeting some of their gazes and smiling ever so slightly. Sometimes he gets a smile returned.

This is how he has been spending the last few months. He’s still not sure he’ll graduate, still not sure he’ll make it long enough, but now he’s fighting to try. He’s not so sure he wants professional help yet, even though his companion suggests it often. He’s not sure he’s ready to share himself with another stranger again, but Phil keeps reminding him how much the first stranger is helping him, and that makes Dan think about it a little more. Even his mother commented on how well he’s been looking lately, how happy she was that Dan finally had a friend. Dan’s still not ready to forgive her or his father for their purposeful ignorance, but he’s working on it.

He recognises everyone’s faces, being such a small town everyone goes to the same schools for thirteen years or so. He knows some of their names, but only one really sticks.

 


End file.
